


I had the radio on

by aseriesofessays



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Insomnia, grantaire seriously can't sleep, grantaire's also like twenty, insomniac grantaire, more to come?? maybe??, mostly combeferre and courfeyrac, the amis take care of grantaire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 15:33:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6525979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aseriesofessays/pseuds/aseriesofessays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is seriously sleep deprived, and his flat's really dodgy, and Courfeyrac can't on good conscious let him just stay there. Also, Enjolras needs to stop being childish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I had the radio on

**Author's Note:**

> okay so ironically i haven't slept in about three days and i'm exhausted so i wrote this?? it probably doesn't make all that much sense because i don't really know what's going on but whatever i guess 
> 
> enjoy hopefully/maybe/please

Grantaire pillows his cheek in his hand and fights to stay awake.

It's hard- Enjolras's voice from the front of the room is as passionate and loud as it always is, but Grantaire's so used to that it feels soothing (or at least familiar) rather than jolting. The Musain is warm and smells like coffee and sweets, and his exhaustion is caused by lack of sleep rather than his customary wine. Grantaire would like nothing more than to settle in and sleep for a few days.

But Enjolras is always a bit of a dick, and he's extra hyped up on momentum and, Grantaire doesn't know, liberty- he'd probably end up yelling at him, and getting yelled at would probably make him cry or something in the sleepy, half there state he's in.

Still.

Everything goes comfortably blurry- Enjolras's voice, the cafe's murmurs, the customary loudness of Grantaire's head all reduced to the half voice of a muted TV. It's nice. It's-

His wrist buckles and he snaps into bewildered consciousness. Everyone's eyes are still fixed on Enjolras, and no one's laughing at him, which means that either they've gotten sick of his shit or the sensory shock he'd just gotten was a much smaller deal in real life than it had felt. He yawns, forcing his drooping eyelids up, and settles back into his hand. He needs tape. He needs alcohol.

He needs, Grantaire revises as he picks himself up again, to stop falling asleep, jesus christ.

This isn't unexpected, not really- it's been days since he's slept, weeks since he's had a proper, eight hour rest. This has been a long time in coming. He just wishes it had better timing.

Someone pokes him in the shoulder, hisses: "Grantaire-"

He flutters his eyes open, cursing sluggishly on the inside. "'M awake," he mumbles, "sorry-"

Bahorel winks at him. "Uh huh. Let's hope fearless leader over there hasn't been paying attention."

Grantaire grumbles, but he can't really muster up antagonism right now. He glances at his watch. "Why are meetings so long?"

"Sadism," says Bahorel cheerfully. "Probably don't fall asleep again."

Grantaire hums, considers slapping himself in the face to wake himself up. He rules it out, but only because he probably won't be able to get away with it.

The end of the meeting comes in blurry, soft lightning and aching neck muscles and this is when Grantaire realizes that, oops, maybe he didn't think this through at all, and he walked here. And he has to walk home, in the dark, why is he so stupid-

"Grantaire? Are you alright?"

Combeferre's giving him a concerned look.

"I-" he means to lie and say he's fine, but the look he's getting is a little bit 'are-you-okay' and mostly 'I-know-you're-not-okay-do-not-lie-to-me-or-else'. Grantaire droops.

"Walked here," he admits quietly. Combeferre's frown deepens.

"Do you want me to give you a ride home?"

"'S out of your way," he protests. "I'll be okay, I'll call 'nasse-"

"Do not call Montparnasse," says Combeferre, mouth twisting in disapproval. "You hardly even know him, and he's a drug dealer. Also a criminal. I'll take you home."

"Why are we taking Grantaire home?" asks Courfeyrac, appearing out of nowhere right behind Combeferre (who doesn't look remotely surprised. It's a little creepy). They have a brief, mumbled conversation.

"What's the last time you've eaten something?" Combeferre asks him abruptly. He has his doctor face on.

"Uh," says Grantaire. Courfeyrac winces theatrically, mouths 'wrong answer' over Combeferre's shoulder in that annoying yet endearing way of his. Grantaire's not feeling particularly endeared right now.

"Last time you slept?"

"Uh," he says again, feeling distinctly chastised.

"Last time you had a drink?"

"Like, wine? Or-"

"Non-alcoholic."

"Uh," Grantaire says in a small voice. "A few days ago?"

"You are shit at taking care of yourself," observes Courfeyrac annoyingly. "Worse than Enjolras."

"I didn't think that was possible," mutters Combeferre in a long suffering sort of way. "All right, get up, we're taking you home."

Grantaire has an oddly bad feeling about this. "But- don't you live with Enjolras?"

"Yep," says Courfeyrac cheerfully.

"So we're going to be in the same car..?"

"Yep," Courfeyrac says again, smile slipping slightly. "Oh. I see. Maybe, like- maybe just, like, don't-"

"Don't provoke him," says Combeferre gravely. Like they're talking about a bear or something.

"Yeah," Grantaire agrees. He has the distinct feeling that he's not going to make it out of this unscathed.

\---

"Stop brushing up against me," snaps Enjolras.

"I'm literally not touching you," Grantaire says, voice strained with exhaustion and annoyance. "I can't be touching you, I'm on the opposite side of the car-"

"Your jacket keeps poking me-"

"How is my jacket poking you? It's soft, it doesn't poke-"

"Boys," says Combeferre mildly from the drivers seat. His fingers are white knuckled. "Shut up."

They do. Grantaire lets his head lean against the window, allows his eyes to close just for a second.

His neck prickles, almost like-

When he glances over, Enjolras is glaring at him. He closes his eyes again, hands itching for a drink.

"Grantaire?"

"Mmh?"

Combeferre looks back at him, frowning. "Where do you live?"

"Oh. Uh- blue apartments, kind of crap? Left here, I think," he says, squinting out the window. "Yeah, now a right-"

It takes longer than it should have, with backtracking and wrong turns, but they eventually end up at his flat.

"Hold on," says Courfeyrac, peering up at the building, "didn't someone get stabbed here a couple days ago?"

"Yeah," says Grantaire casually, "Phil, I think? My neighbor. Drug transaction gone bad or something. Anyways, thanks-"

"What the fuck," says Courfeyrac, "seriously? Is it safe?"

Grantaire snorts. "I've been living here since I was like eighteen, I'll be fine."

Combeferre frowns at him in the rearview mirror. "You've lived here for seven years?"

"No..?" says Grantaire slowly. He needs a nap.

Courfeyrac looks just as confused as Grantaire. "Wait, how old are you?"

"How old are _you_ ," Grantaire counters, squirming slightly under the weight of everyone's eyes. He thought they all were students- how has he known them for over a year and never found out anyone's ages?

"Twenty five," says Combeferre.

"Oh," says Grantaire, feeling very young.

"Then how old-"

"I'm twenty," says Grantaire uncomfortably.

Courfeyrac squawks. "You're practically a baby! Oh my god, you wouldn't even be allowed to buy alcohol in the united states-"

"Yeah, I know," says Grantaire grumpily. "Can I go now?"

"No!" says Courfeyrac, looking mock offended. "How can we, on good conscious, let you go into your dangerous-"

"I haven't slept in five days," Grantaire says wearily. "Please just let me sleep."

"Courfeyrac's right," says Combeferre apologetically. "You're not in your right mind-"

"I'm never in my right mind!"

"You can just come home with us, we have a guest room-"

"Guys," he whines, "please?"

Combeferre takes one more look at the building. "Nope. You're coming with us."

"I hate all of you," Grantaire pouts, clicking his seat belt back into place.

He has to be helped up the stairs like he's drunk, doesn't bother looking around before he's collapsing into what he assumes is the guest room bed. He pulls off his shoes in a daze, leaves the rest of it for when he wakes up, and as soon as his head hits the pillow his exhaustion dissipates.

"God damn it," he says under his breath.

\---

Courfeyrac sits upside down on the couch. It's just one of his things.

"Did you know Grantaire was twenty?"

"No," says Combeferre, frowning.

"He makes me feel old."

"He's only five years younger," says Enjolras crossly.

"His brain is still developing!"

"So's yours," Combeferre tells him.

Courfeyrac pouts. "He's the youngest! Grantaire!"

"That's a little weird," Combeferre concedes reluctantly.

"We met him when he was still a teenager!"

Enjolras frowns, thinking back. "Oh. Yeah, we did. That's-"

"Weird!"

"'S not weird," slurs a voice from the doorway. They look up as one.

"Grantaire, go back to bed," says Combeferre disapprovingly.

"Can't sleep," he says, rubbing at his eyes petulantly.

"Now I see it," mutters Courfeyrac. Enjolras has to agree- Grantaire looks like a scruffy, belligerent five year old.

"You were sleeping well enough during the meeting," he says, doing his best to keep the antagonism out of his voice.

"Setting," Grantaire murmurs vaguely. "Hum."

Courfeyrac rights himself. "Dude, if it's been five days since you slept-"

"'S not my fault," he says grumpily.

"How is it not- okay, whatever, just- for god's sake, Grantaire, you're worse than Enjolras!"

"I take offense," says Enjolras haughtily.

"I don't care. Seriously, Grantaire, you're going to wear your body out- Combeferre, you tell him."

"What you're doing really is putting a strain on your body, Grantaire-" Combeferre begins seriously. Grantaire groans loudly, throws an arm over his eyes.

"Whatever," he says, drawing out the 'r', and Enjolras snorts despite himself.

Courfeyrac gives him a look.

"Just- teenagers, he's barely past that-" he defends himself. Grantaire sprawls himself out.

"Oh my god, guys, let it go, I'm not that young, I'm an adult, we're all adults-"

"And you," says Combeferre firmly, "need to sleep. Now."

"I told you I can't!"

"Do you take medication?"

"...No," says Grantaire shiftily.

"Do you normally?"

"I ran out," Grantaire admits.

Combeferre sighs. "When?"

"Like, seven months ago."

"Grantaire, jesus- can't you just take care of yourself for once in your life?"

"Sorry," he says, voice small. Combeferre rubs at his eyes.

"Just- try to sleep. We can put on the radio if that'll help."

Grantaire shrugs, looking subdued, and follows Combeferre dutifully out of the room.

"He worries me," Courfeyrac admits. Enjolras scoffs.

"He'll be fine."

Courfeyrac flips around again, arranging a pillow under his head. His socks are mismatched, red and blue, and there's a hole in one of the toes.

"I'm not talking about just now- I've got a feeling this isn't out of the ordinary for him. He's been out of a prescription drug for seven months, and he hangs around with people like Montparnasse-"

"He also hangs around people like us," argues Enjolras. "Unfortunately."

Courfeyrac rolls his eyes. "He's not bad company, and if you pulled the stick out of your ass you'd see that."

"He sleeps during meetings," says Enjolras, lip curling. "He drinks incessantly, he's annoying, he-"

"Is twenty years old," interrupts Courfeyrac.

"What's that got to do with anything?"

He shrugs. "We've got five years on him."

Enjolras wrinkles his nose. "Like he said, we're all adults- it's not like he's not responsible for his actions or something-"

Courfeyrac shrugs again. "Whatever, I don't want to argue with you right now. Just- I don't know, he's not- there's more to him than the image he puts out, you know? He's smart; brilliant, really, when he argues with you- you're sober but he's nearly always blind drunk and still keeping up with you. He's funny, he-"

"Jesus," Enjolras interrupts, "jesus, fine, whatever, I'll give him a chance." He feels unusually flustered. "I'm going to bed."

"Night-y night," sings, Courfeyrac, as is his custom.

\---

Combeferre sets up an old radio, turns it to a new station while Grantaire awkwardly settles in.

"You good?"

He can already feel his eyelids dipping, which is a not unwelcome surprise. "Yeah- thank you. Seriously."

"It was no trouble." Combeferre smiles at him, flips off the light. "Sleep well."

He barely manages to force out a hum before sleep claims him.

\---

"Success," Combeferre whispers, coming back into the living room. "Where's Enjolras?"

"Gone to bed," yawns Courfeyrac. "How's Grantaire?"

"Asleep. The radio worked, who knows why. Aside from that, no idea. Did you talk to Enjolras?"

"Yep. He says he'll give Grantaire a chance." He stands up, stretches. "You know, Grantaire is the youngest in this situation, but Enjolras acts like he is."

"Enjolras is both too old for his age and too young," Combeferre says wearily. "And we're the ones who have to deal with him."

"But not unrested. I'm going to bed, and dragging you down with me."

"How could I refuse such a charming offer," says Combeferre monotone, but follows Courfeyrac out of the room willingly enough.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr at lesgrandtears.tumblr.com jsyk 
> 
> i might add more chapters??? maybe??? but idk tbh


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